It was at the far end of the main bedroom corridor and Mrs. Wilson had allocated it to her, once she had made the decision that Moira would now be employed as a lady’s maid.

Moira put her carpetbag on the bed and carefully took out the few clothes. She then reached for the photograph frame wrapped in a nightgown. After unwrapping it, she took out the silver frame and stared at the woman in the picture. Tears sprang into her eyes and she went and sat in the chair, taking deep breaths.

“I miss you so much. I’ll miss you all my life,” she whispered to the photograph. “Until I day I die, and I come to you in Heaven.”

The tears rolled down Moira’s cheeks and splashed onto the glass, blurring the woman’s beautiful face. She reached into the pocket of her dress, took out a handkerchief and wiped the glass, then held the frame close to her heart.

Moira closed her eyes, remembering.… She knew then that she would always have these memories to draw on, to keep her sane in this awful world, to comfort her in times of trouble. She had belonged to them, and their imprint was on her, every part of her.

She had their manners, their way of speaking, and they had educated her, recognizing her fierce intellect, her love of books, her curiosity and cleverness. They had made her who and what she was … their creation in every way.

But now they were gone, and she would have to make her own way in the world.

After a while, Moira stood up and went to the chest. She placed the silver frame in the middle drawer, then covered it with her underclothes. Once she had unpacked the carpetbag, she put it away in a closet.

A small bathroom opened off the end of the corridor nearby. After washing her hands and face, and smoothing her hair, Moira went downstairs to meet Mrs. Caulfield, the housekeeper, who would give her a uniform composed of a black dress and a small white lace collar. And then her new life would begin until she could find a way to change it. Permanently.

As she went downstairs, Moira thought of the young man called Blackie, who had probed, asked her about herself. She had been startled he had spotted how different she was. And so fast.

As for the older man, Jack, he had been nice to her and tried to be protective. But it was Patrick Kennedy who had been the true gentleman. There was no question in her mind about that.

Mmmm, she thought, pursing her lips, we shall see. We shall see.

Twenty-Six

It was a mild Sunday afternoon at the end of June. The sky was pale blue, with puffball white clouds, the air balmy and soft.